


Somewhere Only We Know

by CannonballFeathers03



Category: Sherlock Holmes (BBC Radio)
Genre: Completed, Light Angst, M/M, Mentions of Cancer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-11-06 11:25:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11035221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CannonballFeathers03/pseuds/CannonballFeathers03
Summary: Dear God, let me hear these sounds again. Let me hear his wonderful voice and gorgeous laugh. Let me see his magnificent face light up when he sees his surprise. Let me get lost in his beautiful ocean eyes a million times more.





	Somewhere Only We Know

My name is John Hamish Watson, I am 19 years old. 

At age twelve, I was diagnosed with bone cancer.

By the time I was thirteen, I'd had my leg amputated and I had been to more physiotherapy and chemotherapy sessions then most people my age. 

Around the time I'd had my surgery, a rich family moved to our estate. The Holmes family consisted of four people: 

Mrs Holmes, who became a maths teacher at our local school,

Mr Holmes, who spent most of his time gardening in their massive garden,

Mycroft Holmes, the oldest child, who spent most of his time inside, working on cases from the government.

And finally, the youngest son, Sherlock Holmes. 

The first time I saw Sherlock, he was playing pirates with Mycroft, who, despite not trying to show it, was enjoying it immensely. I laughed as Sherlock managed to get several hits on Mycroft, who would dramatically over- exaggerate his wounds to please his brother. One of the hits landed on Mycroft's legs, which caused him to fall over and grip his leg. I'd glanced at my leg, (what was left of it anyway) then wheeled myself back into the house in my wheelchair.

************************************************************************************************

My first meeting with Sherlock was unexpected. I didn't go to school, because I wasn't allowed until I had completed my physiotherapy, but Sherlock did go to school. I stayed inside most of the time, not really being able to do anything. However, one day when it was extremely sunny, my mum covered me in suncream and forced me outside. I'd missed going outside, so I used my crutches to hobble down the small field near my house and the Holmes' estate. I'd just sat down, eating my lunch, when something tapped me on my shoulder. I turned my head to find none other than Sherlock Holmes. 

"Hi," he said quietly.

"Hi," I replied. We were both quiet for a few seconds, not really knowing what to say.

"May I ask, how did you loose your leg?" Sherlock had asked. 

"I had cancer in my leg, and they had to take my leg off so I didn't get the cancer anywhere else," I had replied. Sherlock seemed a bit upset, but mostly intrigued. He invited me round to play, to which I had replied yes. His parents invited mine round and we had a huge dinner together. Thirteen year old me never realised how a twelve year old Sherlock Holmes would affect my life and make it a little less miserable.

************************************************************************************************

Six years later, Sherlock and I were sitting on the edge of a small cliff, looking off into the sea's horizon. The huge figure of the hospital was behind us, watching the horizon with us. I remembered looking at this horizon just before I had my leg amputated, I remembered seeing it as my non-existent foot burned and I cried. I hated seeing this hospital again, even more now with the fact it wasn't me getting treated. 

Sherlock leaned against me, my grey, knitted jumper loosely wrapped around him, his hospital gown underneath. Morphine was being pumped through him via an IV, the catheter taped onto and into his right hand, which was currently being held by my own. Sherlock's head was on my shoulder and mine was on top of his. My shoulder was damp from Sherlock crying on it earlier, but I didn't care. I wanted it to stay like this forever, but I knew it couldn't.

Sherlock had been diagnosed with brain cancer a few weeks ago. He had a stage 4 tumour, which was growing inbetween the cerebellum and the brain stem. It had started when Sherlock was unable to catch the rugby ball that I had thrown at him. Sherlock would always catch it, no matter what. Eventually, Sherlock's symptoms became worse and worse. His eyes started to flicker uncontrollably at least once a day, his face became weak, he claimed he would see things in pairs and he started vomiting everyday. By the time the doctors diagnosed him, Sherlock could barely move his neck, walk or talk. 

Because the tumour was growing rapidly, the doctors decided it would be best for Sherlock to get brain surgery. The problem was, there was a fifty percent possibility that Sherlock would die during the surgery. The surgery was happening in a few hours, at 10 o'clock, so I took Sherlock outside in his wheelchair to watch the sky and sea as it became day, just in case he wouldn't be able to see it again. I prayed to whatever god there was to let Sherlock see the sky again, and to let me see him alive and well.

************************************************************************************************

"I…don't want…to die," Sherlock said, after a few minutes of being completely silent. I kissed him on the head and turned to face him. His voice hesitated every few words and was really quiet, but the quiet surroundings around us enabled me to hear Sherlock clearly

"I know you don't, but I promise, you won't die," I said. 

"You can't…promise that," Sherlock replied. 

"I can, I just did," I remarked.

"You know…what I mean," Sherlock said. "If I…die, you'll…beat yourself…up over it, I…hate it when…you do that," he added, snuggling back into my shoulder.

"Let's stop talking about me and the surgery, yeah?" I said. Sherlock nodded. "How about we talk about what's gonna happen after you survive the surgery?" 

"That…sounds…good," Sherlock replied quietly. 

*************************************************************************************************

So we talked about how we'd live in London and I would become a doctor, and help people get better. How we'd get married, have a dog and walk him round the massive London parks, my one hand in Sherlock's, and my other hand holding our dog's lead. Sherlock wanted to name him Redbeard. I chuckled. Sherlock would never stop loving to play pirates. 

"I always…wanted a…dog," Sherlock said.

"Me too, do you know what kind you want?" I asked.

"I once…saw a couple…with a lovely…Irish Setter," Sherlock replied. "I think…I'd like…one,” 

"While you're in surgery, I'll check online for some puppies, yeah?" I said. 

"I'd like…that…very much," Sherlock replied, putting more of his weight on me. He hadn't been sleeping well ever since he came to the hospital. I'd managed to sneak in one night and lay there with him. Since we started going out, Sherlock would never sleep on his own. He'd message me during the night to come and sleep in his bed. Since my house was only a few doors down, I could get there in five minutes , three or two if I ran. Sherlock would sleep like a baby when I was there with him, according to his parents. 

My thoughts trailed off, until I heard Sherlock give a big sigh. I looked at him, and his beautiful ocean eyes were closed. I leaned my head against Sherlock's once again, and I closed my eyes. I drifted off to the sound of his relaxed breathing and his steady heart beat. Despite my optimism earlier, I wanted to remember these wonderful sounds, just in case Sherlock never woke up after the surgery. 

Dear God, let me hear these sounds again. Let me hear his wonderful voice and gorgeous laugh. Let me see his magnificent face light up when he sees his surprise. Let me get lost in his beautiful ocean eyes a million times more.

*************************************************************************************************

I felt heat hitting me in the face and I strained my eyes opened. I could see the beautiful sun rising over the horizon and the sky starting to turn orange. I gently shook Sherlock, and he woke up almost instantly, after a few attempts.

"What?" he asked groggily. I smiled at his wonderful, tired face. He always looked cute when he first woke up.

"The sun's rising," I replied. Sherlock raised his head and his eyes widened at the sight in front of him. 

"Wow," he said quietly.

The sun rose over the horizon, turning the sky and sea orange with it's light. Seagulls flew off into the horizon, black against the bright light. Orange and blue bleed together as the few clouds floated across the sky, driven by the cool, fresh sea air. I breathed in and breathed out slowly, then checked the time. 

"We better get back, the nurses will start doing their rounds now," I said. I helped Sherlock get up and into his wheelchair. I wheeled him back to the hospital entrance and took him to his ward in the elevator. Once we arrived and Sherlock was back in bed, we waited for his surgery to start.

************************************************************************************************

Sherlock survived the surgery, just as I knew he would. They'd managed to get pretty much all of the tumour, but Sherlock would have to come back every so often to get radiotherapy to completely eradicate the tumour. There was always a chance the tumour could come back, so Sherlock was booked for monthly checkups as well. But at least he was alive, that's all that mattered.

A few weeks after Sherlock got the surgery, he completed his online college course and we moved to London. Our landlady, Mrs Hudson, was kind enough to let me and Sherlock get a dog. I surprised Sherlock by getting him to open a massive cardboard box with holes in and his face was priceless when he saw what was inside: an Irish Setter named Redbeard. Mrs Hudson took so many photos of Sherlock and Redbeard, and so did I. 

Redbeard was brilliant in comforting Sherlock after his radiotherapy sessions, after we got him potty trained. We'd take him out twice a day, letting him pee in the park. Redbeard landed Sherlock and I a job with Scotland Yard. Sherlock became a consulting detective and I became his assistant. We solved tons of cases and met some new friends, as well as enemies. 

Jim Moriarty nearly made me lose Sherlock, once and for all. Jumping off of Barts Hospital was apparently the only way Sherlock would be able to take down Moriarty's network. I was informed that his suicide was faked, and that I wouldn't be able to contact Sherlock for awhile. When Sherlock came back, Redbeard tackled him to the ground and nearly licked his face off. I didn't recognise him at first, but as soon as he spoke, I knew it was Sherlock. I couldn't remember ever being so happy to see him, not since he came out of surgery at aged eighteen. He was twenty three now, and I couldn't believe how quickly time passed.

************************************************************************************************

I proposed to Sherlock a few months after he got back, he accepted and we got married the following year. Mycroft came along, which surprised Sherlock a little. He gave us both a surprise honeymoon in Bora Bora, which we both loved. I came back with a tan, and Sherlock came back with sunburn. Redbeard went crazy when we came back. I could see how much Sherlock had missed him as well.

************************************************************************************************

So, this is where my story ends. I am currently sitting in the living room of Sherlock's and I's Sussex home. I'm currently seventy five years old and Sherlock is seventy four. Mycroft died a year ago, as did Greg Lestrade, a dear friend of ours and Mycroft's husband. Our son and daughter both have families now, who visit us whenever they can. Redbeard IV is laying across mine and Sherlock's slippered feet. All of us have grey hairs, all of us are old and probably close to the end. My life has been wild as hell and I've lived it to my best ability. I realised a long time ago that this was because of Sherlock. 

"I'm glad to have lived my life with you, William Sherlock Scott Watson- Holmes," I stated.

"Me too, John Hamish Watson- Holmes,"


End file.
